


Scarcewall

by redtrouble



Category: Demonheart (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-11 21:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15324708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtrouble/pseuds/redtrouble
Summary: Sir Brash returns to Scarcewall with Rivera. [This is my personal interpretation of events and characters, and I completely respect everyone has their own version of these characters in their head. So don't mind me. I'm just making stuff up again.] Rated M for adult language.





	1. Chapter 1

The forest was so thick and old that the light that struggled through the mossy canopy was strangled, serving only to highlight the dust dancing in the dense air. Every breath was full of earthy spores, slow and choking. The silence was deafening, lacking even the idle buzzing of insects or the incessant chirping of birds, and only broken by a hoof on a twig.

Mace stared down the doe, bow string pulled taut, breathing low and even. He kept the arrow aimed and steady in spite of the way his arm ached with the strain of a held shot. The doe slowly stamped the earth, nose brushing along the ground as her mouth grazed on whatever edible greenery she found on the forest floor. In just two steps, she would be in range.

He watched, frozen between the trees, as she came toward him, completely unaware of the danger, of the man just thirty yards away with an arrow trained on her heart. One step was all it took and he would take her.

Another snap dew his gaze and a young fawn emerged from the black thicket beyond. The doe raised her head, looking back at her young. The fawn bounded toward her on wobbly legs, eager to be near his mother. She sniffed at him, nudged him, and then went back to grazing. The fawn nuzzled her, vying for attention, but she ignored him, too interested in food. Bored, the fawn looked around, his ears and tail twitching as bugs swarmed nearby, and every time his mother took a step away from him, he followed her on unsteady legs to press against her side.

Mace gazed down the length of his shaft, past the arrowhead, and narrowed his gaze on this mother and child.


	2. Chapter 2

Sir Brash stood in the middle of the Scarcewall palace throne room with Jarlan on his right, Rose Jayden on his left, and a handful of soldiers behind them. Though the palace itself was richly constructed, Lord Mace left his court largely unadorned. The black, white and blue banners of Scarcewall hung beside the doors and a rich, blue runner stretched from the simple, marble throne to the double door entrance, but otherwise there were no embellishments in the form of precious metals or splashes of color anywhere else in the room.

The return to the city had been grand with soldiers escorting the seven knights of Scarcewall to the palace gates, the people crowding the streets in greeting—out of fear or respect was anyone’s guess. Brash had been welcomed by his fellows as he was brought to the throne room and told Mace has been out hunting and was returning shortly. They hadn’t waited long, but the silence made it feel like forever.

The loud bang of the door in the back being thrown open was a jarring disruption to the quiet and Brash tensed up. He knew he was going to have some explaining to do and he still hadn’t decided whether or not to lie about it. Mace waltzed into the room, his dark blue doublet unbuttoned over an untucked sky blue silk tunic, and motioned the soldiers behind him away mid-stride. He crossed directly to Brash, clasped his forearm with a steady grip, and Brash returned the gesture.

“Welcome home,” Mace said with a firm shake.

“Thank you, my lord,” Brash replied with a quick bow of his head.

“What happened?” he asked, releasing his arm.

Brash swallowed the thickness in his throat. “As is turns out, Rivera planned to eat my heart all along,” he answered and Mace narrowed his gaze in anger. He hadn’t yet been told. _Good_ , Brash thought. The less Mace actually knew, the more he could be convinced of. “The moment we got there, she used some new poison to incapacitate me then dug out the convict girl’s heart and ran her little experiments. Before she could turn herself into a demonheart, her apprentice betrayed her to save the girl. Rivera tried to use me to stop her apprentice and I used the opportunity to overpower her.”

Brash twisted at the waist and nodded at Jarlan who signaled to a man standing behind them. In a moment, the double doors opened and several guards came in dragging Rivera strung up in chains that clanked loudly as she struggled against them. Brash was grinning when Mace eyed him.

“Thought you might like to have a few words with her,” Brash said, hoping Rivera would be enough of a distraction. He wasn’t sure if he would interrogate her and what Rivera might say to spoil things, but killing her on the road would’ve been more suspicious and Brash would have had less to stall with.

Mace stared at Rivera, who had been glaring daggers at him since they brought her in. She was kicking and struggling as they hauled her across the room, unable to take her eyes off of Mace. She knew what he had done to her mentor, remembered how he had slaughtered her to keep his secrets. When she was before him and all was still, Mace lifted his hands and gently took her face in his palms. Brash thought he saw fear flicker in her eyes.

With one swift twist, Mace snapped her neck and everyone in the room stiffened. Rivera went limp in the iron collar, sagging on the chains.

“Ye didn’t want ta question her?” Jarlan asked.

“Asking her a question would only give her the satisfaction of denying me an answer,” Mace answered easily. He looked at the guards holding her chains. “Burn her,” he said calmly. The guards saluted him with a click of their booted heels and dragged the wench out. He turned back to his knights and ambassador. “Go,” he said to Jarlan and Rose. They bowed their heads and departed quietly.

When the doors were closed, Mace climbed the steps to his unadorned throne and sat. Brash stood as calmly as he could even as his muscles flexed nervously beneath the armor. Mace rested his elbows on the throne arms and waited, and Brash was positive he was waiting for him to say something about Bright, but Brash was in no hurry to volunteer information so he just glared elsewhere in the room.

“What happened to her?” Mace finally asked and Brash cut his gaze to him, watched him lift his fingers to his chin, studying him with that hawk-like stare. Mace’s eyes were gray as stone and just as cold and calculating.

“Don’t know,” Brash lied. “She escaped during the battle.”

“You didn’t go after her.”

“What was the point? She no longer had her heart. Rivera took it just like mine, hid it somewhere in Inferno. Her notes said where, but she took the coordinates to her grave.”

“Why would she hide them?”

“She was going to use the girl’s heart and mine to make her and Ari demonhearts, but only when she thought it was safe. Seems she was having some trust issues.” He shrugged. “Guess she was right.”

“Her apprentice didn’t know where to find them?”

“Like I said, trust issues.”

“The demonheart is a loose end,” Mace said.

“She’s a harmless Feline pussy,” Brash snapped. “Weakest of demonhearts. She won’t be anyone’s fucking problem.”

Mace stared at him for a long while and Brash tried not to shift uncomfortably. Mace had the most commanding presence Brash had ever stood in. It was hard to know him and not like him, to not be loyal. The fools who cursed him a tyrant did so because they didn’t know him, didn’t understand that Mace was a man of action. He had little use for ceremony and tradition, only capability and loyalty. Morality wouldn’t hold the border of Shermyr and Vaytos, only strength would.

Brash looked at him on that throne. He was less than a decade older than Brash and his face possessed both middle-aged youth and elderly wisdom. He kept his head and jaw cleanly shaven—one less thing to catch fire should his enemies get at him—leaving only his dark eyebrows as evidence he once had black hair. Mace looked severe but it was pragmatism, not malice. He never spoke without intention, valued skill over title, led by example, and was the most respectable man Brash had ever met, but he had zero tolerance for distractions in his servants, especially his prized knights, so Brash found himself writhing in a lie.

But he wouldn’t give her up. Not for anyone, not even Mace.

Finally, Mace nodded. “It’s good you’re back,” he said, “and that business with Feline finished.”

Relief flooded him and he almost sighed audibly. “Thank you.”

“You look like hell, Brash,” Mace observed. “Send your equipment to the smiths. We’ll have your armor shined and weapon sharpened. Draw a bath, relax. Tonight, we’ll feast in your honor.”

Brash bowed his head and left.


	3. Chapter 3

Rose waited until Brash had disappeared down the hallway then slipped inside the throne room. Mace was sitting on his throne, head resting on his fingertips, his doublet open and his silk tunic not completely laced. That coupled with the stern gaze in his stone gray eyes almost made her swoon. Almost. She was all too aware that he did not seem pleased. Brash had looked relieved when he left so…what exactly had happened between them?

Rose took a deep breath, put on her best smile, and strolled right up to the throne, hips swaying.

“Where is she?” Mace asked her and Rose didn’t have to wonder who he was talking about. So Brash hadn’t told him about Bright. She knew what her next move had to be.

“Gone,” Rose replied easily, “by the time we got there.”

“Are you concealing incompetence?”

“Only on Rivera’s part, as I understand it.”

Mace narrowed his gaze ever so slightly. “Is he protecting her?”

“Of course not.” Rose chuckled to mask any tells that might flicker across her face. “Are you accusing your finest brute of sentimentality?”

Brash was one of Mace’s most capable fighters but it was no secret that he had a few ‘annoying moral quirks’, as Mace put it, always centered around women.

“Has the fool gone and fucked her?”

Rose had wondered that herself at first, until he practically confessed his love for her by openly defying Mace’s orders to bring her to court. Then she knew it was far more serious. Rose was a better liar than Brash but even she might not be able to help her friend with this. Mace was rather good at exterminating any of his knight’s ethical complications whenever they arose, and he wasn’t above wasting valuable resources on hunting down one little girl because his prized knight had been stupid enough to fall in love with her. After all, there was too much at stake to risk distractions with any of his servants, especially his knights—Brash chiefest among them.

“If only he was so lucky.” Rose winked. “Maybe that’s why he’s been so cranky. She was a firehair, you know.”

Mace’s gaze flicked away and he lifted his head as understanding dawned on him. Every man had a weakness and the inner circle knew firehairs were Brash’s. They often joked that was the reason he and Jarlan were such good friends. Rose knew she had to give Mace that little detail, at least, to make sense of Brash’s behavior. Mace wasn’t stupid and he wouldn’t be fooled by their lies for long without at least some believable information. Any politician worth her weight in gold knew that it didn’t matter what was true, just what you could make someone believe.

She normally wouldn’t even consider bringing anything but truth to Mace, but she felt this one little secret that might mean the happiness of a good friend was worth more than honoring her lord’s severity of dedication. Besides, exterminating Bright would probably hurt him more than help him…because if he killed her, he would lose Brash without a doubt.

Mace sighed, an almost unnoticeable gesture, and asked, “Is she going to be a problem?”

“For whom?” she shot back with a pretty smile, but all it took was a second of his silent stare to bypass her games. She shook her head. “I don’t think you need to worry about her,” she said, “or him. Not after he turned her over to Rivera. She may be from Feline, but no woman’s _that_ stupid.”

It was almost true, at least. If Rose wasn’t positive that Brash made a good case for the tortured, regretful knight—simply because it was true, no acting on his part required, not that he was any good at it—and hadn’t known that Bright was, in fact, a good-hearted girl who tried to see the best in people—she had actually forgiven Rose for stabbing her without any warning—then Rose would’ve been completely right that Bright would’ve fled Brash faster than a whore spread her legs to the chime of gold coins. As it stood, however, the unlikeliest of stars had aligned and Brash had actually found his fabled good girl—and a firehair no less. Up until that point, she would’ve considered a unicorn more likely to cross his path.

“Besides,” Rose continued and her smile faded. “We have other problems.” She sighed. “We lost her trail in Ravage.”

“Fuck,” Mace murmured, a barely perceptible utterance. She was probably the only one he showed that much emotion to, the only one with as much trust as one could ever expect out of him.

“They saw her go into the church but she never came out,” Rose continued. “I’m still waiting on a full report, but I know what happened: she went below into the sanctum and that was that.”

It wasn’t the first time their target had disappeared using the _cult_ of Ravage, which was why they had gone through great lengths to plant a spy among their ranks—for all the good it had done them.

“Could she have known she was being followed?”

“I won’t rule it out,” Rose answered bitterly, “but no one’s fingered our insider yet. The lighthouse _is_ old, built on a ruin. There could be an entire network of tunnels we haven’t found yet—that the church isn’t even aware of. Or…”

“Or?” he prompted when she didn’t immediately continue.

She frowned. “Our spy found bottles of ambrosia among their commodities. It could be a coincidence or…they could have a portal.”

“It would explain why we keep losing her,” Mace agreed. “Someone is helping her.”

“I don’t think the church is involved as a whole. They may hope to spare themselves in the Great Ravage but most of them would like to avoid it altogether. Still, yes, it’s likely one of the higher-ups is so addled that he thinks an apocalypse would make for a fine a retirement.”

“And we have no idea where she was headed next.”

This lack of information roiled her stomach because it meant she wasn’t doing her job. Ambassador was just a fancy way of saying Spymaster, a fine profession for an ex-assassin. Information was her lifeblood. Without it, she was useless.

“None, but my ear’s to the ground,” she assured him. “When she resurfaces, we’ll know.”

“And what of her associates?”

“They’ve been seen moving in and out of the surrounding territories but we don’t have the men to track all of them. Most are conducting guild business. I’m still trying to tease out answers without raising the alarm, but we really have no way to tell if they’re involved on a deeper level.”

For a moment, Mace appeared lost in thought, working through this puzzle that seemed to increase in complexity with every report. As a woman used to working shrouded in secrecy, even Rose had to admit the mystery was getting annoying. If there wasn’t so much at stake, she might actually be enjoying herself, but knowing the fate that rested on the success of their mission had her scared shitless.

And then there was Mace. She shouldered the burden as much as he allowed her but ultimately it was his back holding it all up. Rose’s gaze drifted across the planes of his face and the wise lines that aged him into a remarkably handsome man. She wished he would depend on her a little more…

Mace suddenly gave her eye contact and she sucked in a silent breath, schooling the tender expression she knew she wore for one more stern. He did not tolerate distractions among his most trusted allies, and he was no hypocrite. He would never allow himself to be distracted, no matter who they were or how they felt…or how close to him they stood.

Mace gave her a curt nod. “We feast tonight, and then I want you in Ravage by tomorrow. Take Sparrow and a single cohort. Remind the church that a company of Scarcewall’s soldiers are just a few days’ march away, and they’re restless after their excursion to Feline.”

“You _should_ do it. We could use an excuse to burn that cult to the ground,” Rose muttered angrily. “Then she would have one less place to hide.”

“I won’t risk drawing the King’s eye by slaughtering prophets, even those belonging to a cult.”

“Maybe they know that.”

“Maybe they do, but sympathies toward them ebb and rise quicker than the tide and they are aware of that, too. Deliver whatever threat you need to, Rose, but it’s time we figure out how she keeps eluding us.”

Rose nodded. “I’ll do whatever I have to.”

“I know.”

Rose bowed at the waist, spun on her heels, and swept out of the throne room.


	4. Chapter 4

The bathwater lapped at Brash’s bare chest as the servant girl gently scrubbed his skin. Normally Brash would have washed himself but after Rivera’s poisonous ministrations, he was happy to let someone do the job for him. Demonheart regeneration reattached lost limbs, mended broken bones, closed wounds, lessened the effects of hunger and exhaustion, and purged poisons from the bloodstream and diseases from organs, but it did not keep him from feeling the soreness of each ordeal. So he tilted his head back against the marble tub, closed his eyes, and let himself be washed.

He was surprised Mace had let Bright go so easily. Had he known Brash was lying or did he just not care about a single demonheart he had already determined to let go? Or maybe he had every intention of following up on the missing demonheart girl, but had no intention of telling Brash about it or involving him at all. It would be better for them to get out of Shermyr as fast as possible. North, south—he didn’t care where, just far enough away that Mace couldn’t reach them. He trusted the man on every point but this one. Bright’s safety was too great a risk.

He followed those thoughts of Bright’s safety and wondered if she was okay. He had left her in that ruin to deal with the demonspawn who had stolen her heart…alone. Well, not entirely alone. She had Ari for back-up, but if he trusted a witch to do right by anyone, he would be a fool. It had taken the better part of three days to return to Scarcewall and he was sure whatever way the confrontation had gone down, it was over by now.

But how had it ended? In Bright’s favor…or against it? He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to think about what bad things may have happened to her and tried to focus on the future. He would need to leave for Crows in no more than two days or else he would miss their rendezvous. Provided she made it…

Brash swallowed his nervousness and rerouted his imagination toward their reunion. He thought of the way tears had lingered on Bright’s lashes as he kissed her pressed against the wall in Rivera’s lair and the way her curvy body felt in his hands, against him. When they met in Crows, there would be no interruptions and he wouldn’t stop himself midway through. He would have her, thoroughly and desperately and many, _many_ times over.

“Sir?” the servant girl’s timid voice broke the silence.

Brash opened his eyes and realized she had stopped scrubbing. He lifted his head to look at her and found she was staring uncertainly at his erect cock, his hand unconsciously gripping it. Gods, Bright had fucked him up, reducing him to this.

“Get out,” he growled.

“Yes, Sir,” the girl murmured and quickly scurried out.

The mood was ruined so he picked up the dropped sponge, finished rinsing himself, and climbed out of the tub. He scrubbed his head twice with the towel then swept the soft cloth over his whole body while padding into his bedroom where plush rugs comforted his sore feet and silk clothes fell lightly across his scarred skin.

He sat on his wool mattress that sank under his weight and stared at the beautiful, hand-carved wooden furniture in his room, ran his hand across his velvet bedding with matching drapes, and inhaled the gentle scent of herbs and flowers the servants stored the linens with. Around him, his gold and silver trinkets glittered, symbols of wealth and status for a man who grew up with nothing, the unwanted bastard child of a man whose family hated him, slaving away for his father’s obligatory acknowledgement and the meager means to care for his whore mother.

Brash fell back onto his bed and stared at the stone ceiling and wooden struts and felt oddly detached from everything around him. He would have loved to bring Bright back to this place, to make love to her on wool and velvet, to cover his fine furniture with jewels for her to wear, to bathe with her in his marble tub—to make a home here. But Mace would kill her before they had even one night together and he couldn’t lose her.

And that meant he had to say goodbye to this luxury. He was positive he would miss it when it was gone, but no matter how hard he tried in that moment, he couldn’t seem to give a fuck about any of it. He glanced over at the golden hairbrush with its blood red bristles sitting on his dresser and thought of her beautiful hair. That brush would be the only thing he took with him, the only symbol of opulence he would allow himself—and only because he would give it to her.

If she was safe. If she was still alive.

Brash covered his face with his hand and squeezed the ends of his brow. “Fuck,” he cursed. No matter how hard he tried, his mind kept coming back to the bad. He had to get out of there. He had to get to Crows. He had to see her, had to know she was all right.


	5. Chapter 5

The reception hall had been filled with tables covered in delectable spreads of exotic dishes and roasted meats. All of Lord Mace’s prized servants, closest allies, and the most loyal noble families had been invited for the feast and were mingling throughout the room.

Rose smoothed down the front of her clingy, midnight blue gown and strode into the room, the sheer sleeves pinned to her arms with silver clasps fluttering behind her. The wreath of black-tipped white feathers around her shoulders tickled her collarbone where an ornate silver necklace studded with sapphires covered her throat and dangled teardrops of gems onto her chest. Her rich, dark hair was pinned up into a mass of curls and silver cuffs to show off the matching chandelier earrings she wore.

Her eyes danced around the room, taking in the pleased stares, the jealous glares, and the curious glances all in stride. Her eyes found Mace, still wearing his blue doublet and tunic, though now tucked and buttoned appropriately, talking with some dignitaries at the head of his table. His thin smile was as false as the compliment she read on his lips—that the madam on her husband’s arm was stunning that evening—but it still wrinkled her with jealousy.

Mace knew when to smile and who to smile for to most effectively manipulate those around him, and she knew that. But just once, she wished he would tell her that she looked beautiful… It was unfair. She knew that when he told her he trusted her, he meant it, and his trust was more valuable than any number of vain compliments. Still, if just once, he acknowledged her in a way other than as his Spymaster…

Rose stifled her self-pity as she approached Brash and Jarlan, smiling prettily for them. Jarlan was wearing a mud-colored tunic that was almost the same complexion as his leathery brown skin and was sitting at the table, guzzling beer and eyeing the delicious food. Brash wore an olive-colored tunic that brought out the green in his good eye and was standing beside his friend looking grim-faced and uncomfortable.

“Hello, my darlings,” she said. “How handsome you both are tonight.”

“Cut yer shit, Rosie. No one’s ever accused me o’ that,” Jarlan barked, laughing. “And especially not Brashy, here.”

Brash smirked. “Speak for yourself.”

“But neither of you are very good with words,” she gently teased them. “Brash, sweetling.” She swung around to face him, keeping her back to Mace so he couldn’t read her lips should he glance in their direction. “You need to be a little more convincing.”

His smirk vanished. “I don’t fucking know what you’re talking about.”

“That scowl, for one.”

He looked away. “I just don’t feel like celebrating, that’s all.”

“Then you need to give him a reason why.” She offered a sympathetic smile. “I know you’re worried, but if you can’t fake it, you should’ve just gone with her.”

A hard look suddenly flashed in Brash’s eyes. “I’m tired, Rosie. Rivera’s poison really fucked with me.”

She stepped closer to him, resting one hand on his bicep in a comforting gesture, and murmured, “Go with that or you know what he’ll think.”

Brash grabbed her elbow to steady her as he bent to whisper, “If I bring her back, he’ll kill her for being a demonheart. If I beg him to spare her, he’ll kill her because I want to protect her.” His jaw tightened with desperation and sadness washed over her. “If I tell him I love her, he’ll make me watch.”

“He’ll make you do it,” she hissed. “So you better fucking smile, Brash, because you knew the rules before you fell for her.” Her eyes flashed in Mace’s direction before nervously eyeing Jarlan then making eye contact with Brash. “Not that I blame you. You can’t help how you feel.”

“We all know ye speak from experience, lass,” Jarlan muttered. “But she be right, Brashy. Ye not very convincin’. Have a drink with me!”

“I don’t need either of you to hold my fucking hand,” Brash muttered but he took the mug of ale Jarlan offered him.

Rose smiled and patted his arm. “Good boy. Drink up, will ya? You’re a real stick in the ass lately.”

“I could give ye a good stick in tha arse,” Jarlan exclaimed, eyeing Rose from hip to throat.

“I’m afraid you fall a little too short for me,” she pouted.

“Ye haven’t seen it, girl,” Jarlan protested.

She shrugged helplessly. “And I left my spyglass in my room.”

Jarlan gaped at her as Brash started laughing. “Brashy! Ye hear this wench? Blasphemy!”

For a moment, Rose was afraid Jarlan might drop his pants right in the middle of the feast just to prove something. She was a second away from using a stealth blow to knock him out when Brash disarmed him.

“You know better than to put anything near Rosie’s ass,” Brash muttered, finally sitting down to eat.

Rose took the opportunity to escape as they began swapping old boy tales and made her way to Mace, who was only just taking his seat.

“My lord,” she said with a smile then bent to whisper in his ear, “I’ve just received a missive. The boys found you a heart. They’re en route to Scarcewall as we speak. They should arrive in a few days.”

Mace nodded once without so much as a glance in her direction. Rose wandered off to her seat several chairs away, noting with bitter regard how the man was a master at making her feel utterly alone in a room full of people.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Brash got back to his room, it was the middle of the night and he was drunk. He kicked off his boots, stumbling only a little, ripped off his tunic, and practically threw himself at the window. With a hand flattened on the stones on either side of it, he leaned into the cool breeze and inhaled deeply. He was burning up, from the inside out, and the cold felt good.

For a moment, it was just the sound of the wind and his slow inhale and exhale. Then he heard a soft humming in the back of his mind, a song from a dream of death and redemption. He hung his head, thinking of a smiling firehair sitting on his windowsill, imagined her thin arms wrapping around his scarred torso. _I love you_ , she whispered.

“I love you, too, kitty girl,” he whispered back. She lifted her head, her nose brushing his cheek. He breathed in her scent.

All of his life, he had wanted this. Wanted her. Was it a dream? She said she loved him. Was it possible? No one had ever… No one had ever loved him. He wasn’t dreaming, right? _Of course I want to see you again! I love you!_ He was going to see her again. They were going to be together. _I forgive you, Brash._ He was a bad man but she had forgiven him. He wasn’t strong like her…but she had forgiven him. She loved him. It wasn’t a dream, was it?

Brash opened his eyes, body swaying even with his hands pressed supportively against the wall. He looked out the window. Sweat misted his skin. His eyelids felt so heavy. Outside, the world was dark. The forest in the distance was rife with fireflies and it merged with the black sky, peppered with stars, and he couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. The full moon was staring at him, wide-eyed and wondering, like an owl.

She was out there somewhere, under that moon, slowly moving closer to him, his woman, his—woman— _his_. He loved a firehair and she loved him back. _I love you_ , she whispered. Why had he left her? He finally had the thing that he wanted. She should be in his arms. He should be holding her. He should be fucking her. He should—

Brash pushed away from the window, swaying as his head spun. He staggered two steps and fell onto his bed. The velvet caressed him. Brash blindly reached for his pillow but gave up when he couldn’t find it after two swipes of his hand. He tossed his head toward the cool air that brushed his skin, bringing with it the soft sound of her song.

He was sinking into darkness and she was laying next to him, curled up against his side, one hand on his torso. The back of his hand slid along the bedding, silky against his knuckles, and he was sure he was stroking her naked thigh. He wanted to tell her he was sorry it was him, an older man, a damaged man, a bad man—that she had to fall in love with a man like him…but that he would love her, would protect her, would make her happy…with every fiber of his being, for the rest of his life. He would.

_I love you,_ she whispered against his mouth. She kissed him, gently, chastely. He tried to reach for her but his body was so heavy. He couldn’t move. _I love you, Bright,_ he thought, and he hoped she heard him because he was too tired to speak. Her song and the breeze embraced him. And he fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced is the one from my story Vapor, from my Demonheart: Through the Eyes of Sir Brash series. The song I listened to when writing both that piece and this one is called Quiet Moon (1:47), and you can find it on youtube by searching for Quiet Moon Colossal Trailer Music.


	7. Chapter 7

The morning air was crisp with a coming storm. The gray light in a bleak sky promised a miserable journey. Rose sighed, leading the blue roan thoroughbred out of her stall. The stable boy had already fed and watered Sparrow and had given her coat a good rubdown, but Rose took up the brush and groomed her back and sides one more time, just to be sure. As she brushed, she admired the mare’s corn marks along her coat. Most people saw them as flaws but Rose loved them. She thought they added character.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Rose said to the mare, who turned her long face toward Rose and briefly nudged her with her nose. Rose took that as agreement. “I think so, too.”

Next, she arranged the saddle pad, ensuring to cover the withers, and smoothed it down. She threw the saddle over her back, slung the girth under her belly, and threaded the cinch strap, knotting it around the upper ring then securing the slack. Sparrow gently stamped her feet, impatient to run, as Rose fetched the bridle. She loved to run and the electricity in the air excited her.

“Soon,” she promised the mare, bringing the bit to her mouth and gently sliding it between her teeth. She carefully tucked her ears under the crown piece of the halter and smoothed out her dark mane so no hair was trapped under the leather. She secured the throat and nose latch, laughing as Sparrow shook her head, once, twice, and then tossed it excitedly.

Rose stroked the mare’s nose, grabbed the lead, and brought her out of the stable. Her cohort had already departed, out of the city by dawn. After the feast, Rose had no desire to wake so early. Besides, her cohort needed the head start. Sparrow would easily overtake them in a matter of hours. She was a true demon on the run, faster than any other horse Rose had ever ridden.

And she needed that speed now. She needed answers and she wouldn’t get them at the palace waiting on field reports. Rose had been used to doing her own dirty work before she swore her sword to Mace. It was hard to delegate delicate tasks she knew she was best suited to complete, harder to trust the results. But it was efficient, she had to admit it.

Rose swung up into the saddle and, after one last look at the palace towers, she snapped the reigns and sent Sparrow into a trot. The gates opened when they saw her coming and she was out of the city in minutes. The moment Sparrow hit the open road, she broke into a gallop that became a sprint, dashing along the clumpy dirt stretch. She swerved into the grass wet with dew, kicking up mounds as she dashed along. Rose nearly lost her breath as wind rushed to fill her lungs. She leaned into the mare’s neck and Sparrow tossed her head, spurred on by the gesture, and quickened her speed.

The hammer of hooves on earth drilled into Rose’s skull, tiny drops of rain pricking her cheeks. Sparrow seemed to sense her urgency, her need to get to Ravage as fast as possible. She couldn’t let Mace down, not after all the setbacks they had suffered lately. The whole debacle with Feline and Rivera, forfeiting a demonheart and nearly losing his favorite knight in the process, then losing their target in Ravage _again_ —it was too much all at once.

She had to admit to herself that he handled it well, but how much of it was a mask? Like hers. Bubbly ambassador? Was that really all they believed there was to her? And Mace… They screamed Tyrant Lord across Shermyr, but they didn’t know his true colors. If they did, they wouldn’t be so quick to judge. Even the King saw his ability in effect at the border. Could people really be so naïve?

Of course they could. It was like a bitter taste in her mouth when she thought about it. They were just simple folk blissfully unaware of the world around them except when it affected their lives directly, unaware of the danger they were in, of the threat this tyrant sought to protect them from. If she weren’t doing this for them, then she might hate them!

Rose gripped the reigns hard and squeezed her thighs against Sparrow’s sides. She _did_ hate them. It was Mace who didn’t, Mace who was doing everything for the right reasons. Someone had to! Someone had to fight for something good and someone had to fight for something that was real. But Rose?

Everything that Rose did, she did for him.


	8. Chapter 8

The stables were cleaned regularly but the smell of horse and hay wrinkled his nose. Brash was not a horse man—not like Rosie, who loved the damn beasts. He liked his own horse, but that was as far as it went, so he waited outside the stable for the hand to get Midnight groomed and dressed.

It had been raining all morning but the storm passed by lunchtime. By the time Brash learned Mace had gone out to the forest and went down to the stable, the sun was shining brightly and the cool day was getting warm. Thank the gods he didn’t have to struggle with hangovers or else the brightness in his eyes would’ve really been kicking his ass.

“Brash!” a familiar voice screeched and he groaned, rolling his good eye. He turned away from the tall, lanky, angry person he knew was heading his way. “When did you get back?”

“Yesterday,” he told his sister.

“What?” she barked. “You can’t come and see your sister? We thought you were dead!”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“They said you were captured by a witch!”

“What do you want, Chance?” he snapped, flashing an annoyed glance in her direction.

“Why do I have to want something?”

“You always want something. What is it? You pick another fucking winner I need to put my fist through?”

“No!”

“Then why are you here? Spit it out.”

She folded her long arms over her narrow torso. “Don’t bite my head off. It was _your_ mother who thought your death would be worth something.”

 _That fucking figures_. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You told my fucking mother I was dead?”

“No.” She looked away. “I just mentioned you were missing.”

Brash sighed and wondered if anyone would care if he strangled her. “What the fuck did you do that for? She’s not your fucking mother. You don’t need to tell her shit.”

“She asked me to,” Chance explained, throwing up her arms in exasperation. “Ever since you went to Feline and never came home.”

“So it’s about the ‘war’,” he muttered, using the term sarcastically. His mother thought he might not make it back from fighting worgs and was hoping to get something out of his death. “Next time, don’t waste your fucking breath.”

Chance rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to respond but they were both momentarily distracted by the stable hand leading his steed out of the stable. Midnight was a Friesian gelding, all black like a piece of the night sky, and one of the largest horses Brash had ever seen or ridden. Midnight was a warhorse, and his long mane and coat were usually braided but the impromptu ride left no time for it. Not that it mattered. They were riding into the forest, not into a battle.

Brash reached out and took the lead the stable hand passed him. The horse nudged him affectionately and then waited patiently to be mounted. He stroked the animal’s nose once then tossed the lead over his neck and gripped the reins.

“By the way,” Brash began carefully. “What the fuck were you doing trying to work for a fucking witch?”

Chance’s eyes widened and her face flushed bright red in embarrassment, contrasted by her straw-like blond hair. It made her look like a tomato sitting in hay. She made a fist, opened her mouth to respond, choked on her lack of explanation, and then huffed.

“I wasn’t serious,” she managed. “Besides, she was only interested in the red goose anyway.”

“Red goose?” Brash echoed and he knew she must be talking about Bright.

Chance scoffed. “So demure and sweet. Customers would roll over her like a fucking welcome mat.”

Brash remembered what Bright had said about his sister potentially scaring off the customers and he couldn’t help but smile. Chance didn’t seem to notice. She was shaking her head at some memory.

“I tried to warn her that witch was no good,” Chance said, “but she defended the crazy bitch. It’s no wonder she got her head chopped off.”

Brash frowned, mood soured. He gripped the saddle horn, slipped his left foot into the stirrup, and pulled himself into the seat.

“Where are you going?” Chance demanded to know, reaching for the reins to stop him.

“Go home,” he barked.

“But—”

Brash whistled and Midnight began trotting. He heard Chance angrily calling his name as he passed through the gate but ignored her. It was a bit unfair considering she had legitimized his visit to Crows. He had been planning to use the same excuse but she made it real should anyone do any checking. Not that they would… What reason would they have to think he was lying? Still, Mace didn’t press the issue…and that made him nervous as hell.

When he was out of the city, he turned Midnight toward the path that looped around the city and led to the old forest where Mace liked to hunt. He kept the pace steady, enjoying the silence of the wilderness. The field of green grass stretched out tall and peppered with wildflowers—tiny pink and blue and white stars and tangles of yellow bells. The old forest was a thick line of trees in the distance, so dense that it looked black between the closely grown trunks. It was the same forest shared with Feline, but it wasn’t as dense closer to the kitties. This side of Scarcewall, it was a maze. He hated going in there. It was suffocating.

Brash found Mace’s horse grazing a few yards from the forest. As they approached, Storm lifted his head and neighed in greeting, a gesture that Midnight returned as he sidled up beside the other gelding. Storm was a silver dapple gray Andalusian whose mane and tail was black and white and splashed with chocolate. He wasn’t as large as Midnight but he was among the biggest in the stable. Storm was also a warhorse, noble and proud.

Instead of dismounting, Brash relaxed in the saddle, tilting his head back with his eyes closed to absorb the warmth. He tried to imagine Bright the way she was when Chance met her—unscarred and carefree—not the terrified, half-starved kitten in a cage she was by the time he came into her life, but all it did was give him a head full of what ifs he didn’t want to think about.

Midnight listed to the right and Brash felt his muscles flexing beneath his thighs. He reached out and stroked the steed’s neck and thought about taking him to Crows. He was big enough to carry both him and Bright if the pace was leisurely and he would be useful in getting Bright to safety quickly if trouble was nipping too closely to their heels. But could she even ride? He only saw a handful of horses around Feline. It was unlikely she had ever had the opportunity to learn. One more thing he could teach her…

Brash almost laughed. Since when had his life become so revolved around a single woman? Or another person, for that matter. Before he went to Feline, he had a handful of daily concerns, usually revolving one sin or another, but they were mostly selfish instincts. After Bright, his thoughts seemed to circle endlessly around her, being with her, taking care of her. He was a fucking mess.

The rustle of grass was the only warning Brash had before Mace appeared, having crossed to the horses in almost complete silence.

“My lord.” Brash nodded to him and noticed he wasn’t carrying his bow or any other weapon or item. What was he doing in the forest?

“Brash,” Mace said. He drew a canister of water from his saddle pouch and drank deep. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What is it?”

“Do you have orders for me?”

Mace eyed him with that stony gaze for a heartbeat and then swung up into Storm’s saddle. “None for the moment. What is it you need?”

“With your leave, I planned to take a few days in Crows,” Brash replied, easing Midnight alongside Storm as they began walking back toward Scarcewall. “Turns out my idiot sister exaggerated my situation to my mother. I thought I’d go disappoint her I’m still alive.”

Mace nodded his approval and they walked along in silence for several minutes with only the clopping of hooves and the occasional cry of a bird to listen to. Suddenly, Mace tipped his head up ever so slightly.

“She was a firehair, was she?”

Nervousness gripped Brash. “Rosie talks too much.”

“Rose knows how best to weave a lie.”

Brash glanced at his lord’s calm expression. What the fuck did that mean? Did he think Rose had lied to him about something or was he accusing Brash of lying? He wished Rose hadn’t left Scarcewall already. He suddenly really needed to talk to her.

“What happened to Rivera’s apprentice?”

Brash frowned. “She escaped when I was subduing Rivera. It was her or the witch, so I chose the greater threat.”

“Any idea where she could have gone?”

Brash shrugged. “She’s from El’shei. Maybe she went back.”

“You said she betrayed Rivera to help the demonheart. Could she have gone with her?”

“It’s possible,” Brash replied, tensing up.

Mace looked at him. “Brash. Where is the demonheart girl?”

Fear seized him and, without looking at Mace, he replied, “I told you. I don’t know.”

“Is she dead?”

Brash swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “I don’t know,” he ground out, and it was true. He didn’t know, but he hoped like hell she wasn’t.

Mace cut Storm in front of Midnight, stopping him in his tracks and staring at him pointedly. “Did you eat her heart?”

“No!” he barked, momentarily letting his anger slip.

“That is the first completely truthful thing you have said to me since you returned.” He narrowed his gaze on Brash. “Are you protecting her?”

“No. Rivera cut her heart out—”

“—and hid it in Inferno. I remember. I’ve sent a team to investigate her lair, to look for the answers into these gardens of hers.”

Brash tensed, gripping the reins tight to keep from doing something stupid. He couldn’t attack Mace—that would be beyond foolish. Even unarmed, Mace was dangerous. Brash could be armored and armed and he still wouldn’t fight him. He would lose. But Mace was getting dangerously close to threatening Bright’s safety and there was no way he could allow him to hurt her.

“She’s weak,” Brash said. “She barely sprinted ten feet and was passing out. She’s not worth it.”

Mace moved Storm closer alongside Midnight so that he was no more than a foot away from Brash. “Why are you protecting her?”

“I’m not.”

“But you didn’t want her to die.”

Brash grit his teeth. “It was shitty, okay? She didn’t deserve what fucking happened to her. That doesn’t change a fucking thing, though, does it?”

“You care about her.”

“Now you’re fucking crazy—”

Mace suddenly reached out and took hold of his throat in a vice grip. Brash reacted by grabbing his wrist but Mace was impossibly strong. It happened so fast, Brash could only stare wide-eyed at the cold look in his lord’s eyes, flexing his throat in a vain effort to keep pressure off his trachea.

“You’re out of line,” Mace said quietly. It was all the warning he would give. Brash managed a nod.

“My apologies, my lord,” he growled when Mace released him. He swallowed, rubbing his throat. Mace was still waiting for an explanation. Brash had no choice but to answer him. “Yeah, I guess I cared a little. Like you said, she was a fucking firehair. No, I didn’t want to take her to Rivera but I _fucking did_ , and I would’ve brought her to you if I fucking had her, or gone after her if she was fucking worth it or had her godsdamned heart.”

Mace leaned toward him ever so slightly. “You are my knight, Brash. Your loyalty is mine and mine alone. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Mace nodded, turned Storm back around, and resumed his trot back to the city. Brash flicked the reins, urging Midnight forward. The horse instinctively matched the other’s pace.

“So you’re going after her heart?” Brash began cautiously.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, my lord,” he said, and it wasn’t. As far as he knew, Bright’s heart was either in the claws of a fucking demonspawn or back in her chest, and neither was in Rivera’s Lair. “I just don’t know if I want you finding _my_ heart.”

“You don’t want it back?”

“I don’t want your hands on it.”

Mace looked at him with a hint of surprise. “After all this time, you think I would eat your heart?”

Brash scoffed. “I hope you wouldn’t, but I think you might.”

Mace smiled but there was no emotion in it. “I won’t eat your heart, Brash. You have my word.”

Brash just nodded, unsure of what to say. He believed him, but it might not matter when he never came back from Crows. So they rode in silence the rest of the way back to Scarcewall. The city rose up before them like a gray monument, weathered and bleak but strong, symbolic. They waited at the gate for it to be opened. The portcullis cranking upward was a grating sound.

“Safe journey to Crows,” Mace said suddenly when the gate was high enough to cross under then led Storm through. Midnight followed behind him, no longer willing to ride side by side.

At the stable, Mace handed Storm off and immediately left. Brash took his time dismounting, not wanting to get stuck walking back to the palace in Mace’s silence. Maybe he had said too much or maybe he had tried to say too little but he was nervous. Normally Brash could read Mace’s moods, understood his mind, but now he couldn’t be certain of anything because he was thinking on behalf of another person and it was fucking him up, throwing him into a whirlwind of fear. Until he had Bright in his arms and they were well away from Scarcewall, he wouldn’t be able to stop worrying.

They had to get away, far away, and as fast as possible.

When Brash passed the lead off to the stable boy, he said, “I’m taking him out tomorrow. Make sure he’s ready by dawn.”

“Yes, Sir,” the boy replied. “Will it be a long journey, Sir? The farrier is stopping to shoe a couple of the quarters. Should I have him look at Midnight first?”

Brash nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.” He looked beyond the boy and noticed several horses were getting their daily exercise in the yard. Among them was a dapple bay thoroughbred whose rich coat glistened in the sun like a slab of dark red marble veined with black.

“What horse is that?” Brash asked, pointing to it.

“That’s Ember,” he replied. He grinned goofily. “Because her coat, it looks like ember—”

“Embers, yeah,” Brash interrupted him, annoyed. “Whose is she?”

“No one’s, sir, just a part of the court. She’s one of Sparrow’s sisters. Her sire was—”

“How old?”

“Four, Sir.”

“Trained?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What’s her temperament?”

“Good-natured, Sir. Curious, intelligent, friendly. She usually accepts riders easily.”

“Usually?”

“Sometimes she suffers from a stubborn streak…”

“Fine. How old are her shoes?”

“A few weeks fresh, Sir.”

Before he could fully think it through, Brash said, “Saddle her, too. Ready by dawn.”

The stable boy frowned but nodded. “Of course, Sir…”

Brash turned and headed inside to pack. If they were going to put some real distance between them and Scarcewall, they would both need to ride. He could teach Bright how to on the road. He just had to get to Crows as fast as possible…

And hope she was there waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was assigning everyone a horse, I picked one out for Jarlan as well, though I couldn't find an opportunity to introduce him. For anyone who is interested, I chose for him a dun connemara gelding named Crumpet. :P


	9. Chapter 9

Jarlan waited outside Scarecwall’s main gate with a scowl. He had had to rise far too early for this and wasn’t happy about it, grumpier still that his friend was actually trying to sneak out without saying goodbye at least. Even Jarlan knew what this trip to Crows was really about. There was a good chance this would be the last time they saw each other…

He folded his arms over his chest as the sound of hooves on cobblestones drew closer. Soon, Brash came out of the main gate riding Midnight, his armor shining in the soft light. A second horse was tethered to his steed. The large knight didn’t notice him at first and he scoffed, drawing his gaze. He lifted his brows in surprise, his olive eye full of confusion.

“Ye thought ye could slip out early before anyone would dare ta stop ye?” Jarlan accused, pushing off the wall he was leaning against. “Ye underestimate me, Brashy.”

Brash smirked. “Just wanted to see if I could really drag your sorry ass down here before the sun actually hit the sky.

Jarlan growled. “And yer a fuckin’ arsehole for it.” He tilted his head up. “So this be it then?”

A sobering look fell over Brash’s face. He didn’t have to speak or nod for Jarlan to know the answer. Just as he had suspected. All this for that wispy Feline wench? He was going to throw away everything for some young, silly cunt? Jarlan always knew that axe to the head had destroyed some vital part of his brain but he didn’t know how bad it was until he saw him with her in Rivera’s ruin.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Jarlan said, and he wasn’t…but he was still disappointed. “Ye always were a bit more fool than fiend, but…”

But he loved her. And Jarlan wouldn’t have let him throw everything away if he hadn’t seen with his own two eyes that, despite all fucking sense, the lass loved him back.

Jarlan nodded to himself. “But,” he continued, “I suppose…she _is_ a firehair…” He let a grin spread across his face, chuckling. Brash smiled, too. “See you around, Brashy me boy. Or fucking not! I hate to have to be tha one ta gut ye like a pig.”

Brash snorted. “You might, but I’d fucking cut you in half,” he said and Jarlan laughed. Brash snapped the reins and Midnight began trotting away, tugging at the other horse’s lead. Brash glanced back over his shoulder for one last look at his friend then lifted his hand in farewell.

Jarlan just growled with a smile still on his face and nodded to him. He hoped the idiot spent the rest of his stupid life bored as piss, poor as dirt, and happier than anyone had a right to be. Gods know he deserved it after everything.

“Ye take good care of him, lass,” he muttered to the dawn, “or I’ll fuck ye ta death meself!” He laughed at that. “Ah, look at me, all sentimental-like… Torture first, of course,” he mumbled as he waddled back into the city.


	10. Chapter 10

The forest was so dense that light struggled through the mossy canopy and it was so old that dust motes filled the air, choking him. The silence was deafening, missing the chirp of birds and tittering of insects, and only broken by a hoof on a twig.

Mace stared down the doe, bow string pulled taut, breathing low and even. He kept the arrow aimed and steady. The doe slowly stamped the earth, nose brushing along the ground as she grazed on some edible greenery. In just two steps, she would be in range.

He watched, frozen between the trees, as she came toward him, completely unaware of the danger, of the man just thirty yards away with an arrow trained on her heart. One step was all it took and he would take her.

There was another snap and his gaze flicked toward a young fawn that had emerged from the black spaces between trees. The doe raised her head to look back at her young. The fawn bounded toward her, eager to be near his mother. His wobbly legs barely held him up. The doe sniffed at him, nudged him, and then went back to grazing. The fawn nuzzled her, seeking her attention, but she ignored him in her hunt for food. Bored, the fawn looked around, his ears and tail swatting at the swarming bugs. Every time his mother took a step away from him, he followed her on unsteady legs to press against her side.

Mace gazed down the length of his shaft, past the arrowhead, and narrowed his gaze on this mother and child.

In one swift move, he relaxed his stance, lowered the bow, and turned away.


End file.
